[stargate: atlantis fic] in the city and the forest (3/3), pg13
in the city and the forest
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth
- 20,000 words (4,800 this section)
- pg-13
- title from leonard cohen's hey, that's no way to say goodbye
- for otl_fest, 80. elizabeth/john - history repeats itself & for anuna_81, who requested a fic from me a year ago based on viva la vida by coldplay. somewhere down the line this fic took a wrong turn somewhere, but I hope you like it regardless. ♥
- so many thousands upon thousands of epic thanks to tenacious_err. without you, this would probably would have been trashed or abandoned a long time ago. ilu! You are the bestest. <333
Flames lap at your face and your skin burns; the hairs on your arms char and you can smell the singe, the ash; the ‘Gate shuts down; the wormhole disengages; there are twigs in your hair; Oberoth looms over you; you say goodbye with fear, not grace; the flames turn to faces and scream-
"Elizabeth!"
John. His eyes just as wide as they were then. His hand on your arm, squeezing. Body over yours.
You blink. You can hear-
"William," you start. Out of the bed. Clothes. Shoes. Jacket. To John: "Make sure he doesn't wake up. Keep him calm."
He protests; tries to follow. "Stay with him!"
Your voice shakes. He listens. You run.
--
Rodney is a whirlwind of exhaustion and excitement. It's three in the morning and his eyes are blood-shot and coffee mugs are scattered throughout the lab, but he's waving his arms and talking fast and he's got something. The nearly-hidden look of vindication on his face almost makes you smile.
"I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier. I mean, it's so obvious!" John rolls his eyes and Woosley gives him an exasperated expression, both of which Rodney just waves off and turns to you. "Gating off-world was exactly the wrong thing to do; it was exactly what the Replicators expected you to do," he says, without blame or condemnation - just fact. "They're acting on old information and memories acquired from you when you were on Asura," (a brief flash of guilt) "and they assumed - correctly - that you would be desperate enough to connect with William, but simultaneously unwilling to put Atlantis in danger. They knew you'd try to get through to him, but they also knew you wouldn't have the power and resources available to you on Atlantis."
John throws you a look, then frowns at Rodney. "What resources?"
"Me," he declares. Ronon raises and eyebrow and Teyla gives him a stern look. "Well, and Zelenka," he mends, "and a team of scientists and military personnel at the ready the moment you say go. The Replicators were expecting the lag time, and used the connection not only to weaken you, but also to buy time."
Woosley narrows his eyes slightly. "That's quite a theory, Dr. McKay."
Zelenka shakes his head and steps in line beside Rodney and you notice, for the first time, that they've made a blockade - a semi-circle around you and John, silently declaring their loyalties. "I know, it sounds crazy but I believe Rodney is correct."
"Of course I'm correct, what do you think this is just a hunch I just-"
"Get to the point, McKay," John snaps.
Shifting slightly, he addresses Woosley. "We do it from here. Right here in the lab. Elizabeth can establish the exact same connection with William and find out his location, only this time, I'll be able to track, alter, and if need be sever that connection from the computer, just like we did when we stole the Zed-PM.”
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Woosley counters, "but didn't the Replicators send a virus through Elizabeth last time? What stops them from doing it again, and this time infiltrating our computer systems?"
A brief look of annoyance flashes across Rodney's face, and you recognize it easily as his, I'm way ahead of you expression. John tosses you a knowing glance and you both smirk. "We disconnect from the mainframe," Rodney's says. "Use a server that's completely offline and put the entire connection in a vacuum-" He points in turn: "William, Elizabeth, laptop. But with all the resources of Atlantis should something, you know. Go wrong." He shoots you a look. "Which it won't."
"Could she collapse again?"
"John-" you start, but he shakes his head.
"It matters, Elizabeth," he says, "If you get hurt-"
"She could, yes," Rodney interrupts, "But not any worse than the last time. I think."
John glares. "You mean when we almost lost her?"
Rodney looks away and mumbles. "Right."
You lay a hand on John's arm gently and try to speak low and soft. "It's an acceptable risk, John." He protests, but you tighten your grip and shake your head. "You would do the same if you were in my position."
He stares, his expression unchanging, but you know he can't argue, and you know he knows. You slide your hand down to his and squeeze it tightly.
Rodney barrels on. "Now, if we're done stating the obvious-"
"I'm not entirely convinced," Woosley breaks in, and out of the corner of your eye you see Ronon shift forward, tense and angry. "This plan of yours seems not only redundant, but also incredibly dangerous."
Rodney scoffs. "Please, we take risks bigger than this every day just letting half the morons who work here," he gestures around the lab, "anywhere near this kind of technology."
Woosley narrows his eyes. "And this has to be done from Atlantis?"
"In order to give Elizabeth a fighting chance, yes," Rodney says firmly. "I can help her. But I can only do it from here."
The air holds. Rodney stares at him expectantly. John's fingers curl around your palm in a vice. Woosley sighs, resigned. "I assume even if I said no, you'd all do it anyway."
Zelenka throws a look at Rodney; Teyla shifts; Ronon almost growls. Woosley turns to Lorne, hovering near the door next to two marines. "And you'd help them."
Lorne nods without pause. "Yes, Sir."
Woosley stares at you for a long moment. What he sees you can't begin to imagine, but his expression softens into something akin to sympathy.
Then he sighs. "The IOA is going to have a coronary."
Ronon leans forward. "The IOA can shove it up their-"
"Yes," Woosley interrupts sardonically, "I'll be sure to tell them so."
"Thank you."
You don't realize the breathless words are yours until Woosley turns, hesitates, then pats your arm awkwardly. "Yes, well," he murmurs, "We don't leave our people in the hands of the enemy. Especially seven-year olds." To Rodney: "Very well. You have a go."
--
Ronon, Teyla, Lorne and a small contingent of marines wait in the Control Room. It takes Rodney less than two hours to set up, unhooking and reattaching wires and cables, moving computers, transferring data. Zelenka keeps up, correcting him and fighting with him and yelling half in Czech at scientists Rodney is too busy to reprimand.
They'd to it for anyone, you know - jump through the hoops and exhaust all the options. But this - the way they move, speak, plan, act - this is for you. It's for you and it's for John and it's for a time they remember when it would have been your decision, your command.
You love them for it. Their bravery, their loyalty. Their trust.
Everything goes by in a blur, but so slow you can hardly breathe.
"Alright," Rodney says, stabbing a few more keys and re-checking several wires. Holding a data pad in one hand, he makes a few more adjustments, then looks up. "That's it," he says.
You nod; take a deep breath.
"Um," Rodney says. You open your eyes. "Good luck."
The first micro-second is lines of code. The next, emptiness. There's a pause that feels too long, too sharp - and then movement. William's presence crashes into yours and clings so tightly you can't react, save to wrap him up just as tight. I've got you, you whisper, willing your mind to sooth and calm and at the same time locate; the nanites shift and slide and weave between barriers the collective has put in place.
You can feel them encroaching, trying to take control.
"MR-8372," you gasp, pulling yourself forcibly out of their hold. "Outpost; ten miles south-west of the 'Gate." The room spins, and you can feel William clawing at you, begging you to stay. "It's underground - protected-"
Rodney grabs your arm as you start to fall. "Elizabeth!" Pain spikes through your skull, reaching out into every nerve and bone. You hear Rodney shout, something crash to the floor; William is fading and colors are mending and you fight it. Everything hurts and you can't breathe or think or see, but then there are hands, strong and sure, and something cold against your face, and softness.
"Elizabeth."
Rodney's face contracts into focus.
"Did you-"
He nods quickly. "We got it."
You're sitting on the floor, your back against the cabinets and Rodney's arm around your shoulder.
Your voice tremors. "John?"
"They're leaving now."
The room tilts, but you stand regardless. "I have to go."
Rodney scrambles after you. "Elizabeth!" he shouts, but you're already out the door and down the hall and in the Command Center before the feeling even returns to your legs. John is already there, meeting you halfway, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of earshot of his team.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going with you."
"No."
"If there's a shield-"
"I said no, Elizabeth. You aren't coming."
You hate the way your voice cracks. "You can't be serious."
Strong, soft and firm: "You're not strong enough, and you're not fast enough. They can detect you, and you'd be a liability."
You shake your head, almost frantic. His screams echo in your ears. "He's my son."
"I know. And we'll have a better chance of getting him out of there if you-"
"What?" you snap, but your words waver. "Stay out of the way?"
"Yes," he says gently.
"John-"
"I can't do it, Elizabeth. I'm better equipped for this and you know it, but I can't do it if you're there. If I'm constantly thinking about-"
"So don't."
"I can't."
"Damn it, John-"
"You used to trust me." You stop, and freeze, and stare at him. "You used to stand on that balcony and trust me to bring our people home." He let's go of your arm to cup your cheeks in his palms; your fingers curl around his wrists of their own accord. "I won't leave without him," he swears, "No matter what."
"I can't just sit here."
"And I can't risk it," he whispers. "Losing you-" His eyes slam shut and he breaks off; shakes his head. "Let me fix it," he begs. "Let me fix it."
You know he doesn't mean just this.
You swallow tightly, and nod. "Okay," you mouth, no sound to it.
Slowly, reluctantly, you back away.
--
When the screams have faded to whispers, and the faces faded to thoughts, you return. John is pacing the length of your bedroom, and William is fast asleep, at peace.
You're barely in the room before John has your arm, your face cradled in his palm. "Hey. Are you alright?"
He looks concerned. Almost frightened. "I'll be fine," you assure him. He looks skeptical, but nods; steps back. Your eyes flicker across the room. "Did he wake up?"
John shakes his head. "What was that about?"
You turn your back to him and throw your jacket over the chair. "They wake him up, sometimes," you say, too flatly; turn and face him. "It's better if I'm farther away, or if someone's with him."
He nods like he understands, but you know he doesn't really. Can't - it isn't his fault. He closes the space between you and touches you gently. "You're still shaking."
Exhale: "I know."
"Elizabeth-"
"They killed an entire village." He freezes; you close your eyes. You weren’t going to tell him. "Burned it to the ground."
"Who did?"
"Oberoth."
His name, out-loud, laid bare between you. John tenses with disgust and anger and guilt and he holds you just a little bit tighter, like he can protect you from what's already come and gone. You don't remember what it's like to cry, but your eyes hurt and your throat is tight and you wish you could stop talking but it's too much, too raw and he's here, this time. He's here.
"I'm responsible. I stayed too long, and they came." You wonder absently what he sees when he looks at you. "They always came."
"You can't blame yourself," he says firmly, and you almost laugh with bitterness.
"No? They helped me and paid for their kindness with their lives. I led Oberoth straight to them."
His teeth clench and his eyes narrow. "Oberoth is a psychopath-"
"He's a machine," you correct. The word is acidic. "And so am I." You shake your head, as if it could drive away your guilt. "I should have known."
"Elizabeth-"
Snap: "Don't."
You pull away. Heat boils in your stomach and you feel sick, feel tired, feel out of control and spinning downwards. In the back of your mind, you know that William is dreaming of toy planes and Atlantis from the sky; this time, you cannot give him stars.
"You said before you jumped from planet to planet before you found Corlon," John says softly, carefully. "Never stayed anywhere for too long." He's close, could touch you if he tried; wanted. "What made the other planet different?"
You stare down at your son, fast asleep. Your son, who liked to chew your hair and throw snowballs at the villagers; your son, who speaks Lanni when he's tired or excited or scared; your son, who plays in labs you tell him not to and loves to fly and finds you whenever you're sad, and smothers your face in kisses.
"That's where William was born."
--
John's voice is nearly static through the comm.
"McKay, get us through!" he shouts.
"I'm trying!"
You can hear weapons fire, shouting. There was a shield. There's always a shield. Always a barrier. You put the icepack Keller gave you to the side and watch as Rodney types frantically, trying to use the information you gave him to break through.
There's a staccato, a grunt; someone yells. "Try harder!"
Rodney's face contorts and he lets out a string of curses.
"I'll do it."
His head whips toward you. "Elizabeth-"
You shake your head. "I'm stronger, and I'm faster," you remind him, and wish your voice wasn't breathless and laced with pain.
Rodney flails his arms. "You can barely stand up!"
"I don't need to stand."
"Elizabeth!" he shouts, but you're already gone. You can't explain it, can't describe it. It isn't numbers or letters or codes. You just know where things are, how they move, how they adjust to your presence. You can feel them massing, trying to force you out and force you down but they can't. You're so close, almost to the shield.
Everything goes black.
White.
Blue.
"Dr. Weir." Behind you. "How kind of you to join us."
When you turn, you can see him clearly, see his face and his figure as if they weren't an illusion; as if they weren't your nightmares. "Oberoth."
He smiles smugly. "You look surprised."
You clench your teeth. "You were destroyed."
"You've forgotten our main tenant, I see," he mocks. Something tugs on your mind, hard, and you know it's him. You're familiar with his brand of punishment and torture. "Looking for someone? Don't worry. William is safe and sound, and thriving under our treatment."
The word makes your skin crawl. "Treatment."
"Amazing specimen he is. Half human, half-Replicator with the ATA gene."
Like a knife at the base of your skull; needles in every inch of your skin; weights and bonds and you push back with everything you are. "That gene means nothing to you," you gasp, full of anger. "Ascension isn't what you're after."
"Not me, no," he shrugs calmly, "though some of Niam's group still exist and still…deliberate," he chooses, "over their futures. I'm after something much more concrete."
The barrier flickers. It's so soft, so unobtrusive that you're sure you've imagined it, until it happens again. Oberoth doesn't seem to notice. You do everything you can to stay upright, even as the air grows thin. "What would you possibly want with a hybrid?"
"Oh, it's not the boy I'm interested in," he says lowly. "It's you. And more importantly, your location."
"Atlantis."
He merely smiles. "A bit too obvious, isn't it?"
Another harsh tug; you fall to the ground. "You're a broken record, Oberoth," you manage, the words spit between clenched teeth.
"But with new songs."
Even without sight, you feel their presence - John, Ronon, Teyla, all of them, bound and disarmed, being led down a long hallway towards the brig.
"My people found them just outside the complex. Think they'll enjoy their new realities as much as you did, Dr. Weir?"
Your voice wavers. "Let them go."
"Or what?" he sneers. He steps closer, crouching down in front of you as the pain spikes again; you can't cover your cry. "Don't expect the same parlor trick to work twice, Dr. Weir," he threatens lowly. "I am even more powerful than you remember."
Breathing heavy. Eyes slit. You can't see, can hardly hear your own voice. "Funny," you gasp, "I don't remember you...being that powerful to begin with."
He straightens suddenly. "Perhaps I should remind you."
You laugh breathlessly. "You always...underestimated me, Oberoth."
You can no longer see his face, but his tone is disbelieving and arrogant. "I don't see how. You're fading."
With the strength you have left, you lift your head and glare. "You assume I'm like you. That I…care more for my life than of those around me…than those of my family." You smile ruefully. "You might kill me…but you won't get William." Triumph: "And you never had John."
You can sense him start to frown, to question you, when there's a crash; a burst of light. The last thing you see are Oberoth's robes swirling at his feet, then dropping with the dust.
Then everything stops.
--
Calm.
Something shifts. There's a quiet beeping. Footsteps. Breathing. Something warm and heavy against your hand. You try to move, and the weight closes around your wrist.
"'Lizbth?"
The voice is muted and garbled. Your head is pounding and the light hurts when you crack your eyes open.
Pressure on your hand.
"Elizabeth."
Your eyelids flutter open and closed. The lights dim. The voice is familiar, but you can't place it. Aren't sure-
"Elizabeth, it's John. Can you hear me?" A shuffle. A cry. "Shh," he says. "Just wait. Give her a second, okay, buddy?"
You use all your strength to open your eyes. Everything is hazy and gray. You can see a figure near you, out of focus. You concentrate, and slowly the lines return - you're in the infirmary on Atlantis.
Atlantis.
Oberoth, Replicators, shield, John, William - oh, god -
A cry escapes your throat followed by a voice, small and scared. "M'yka?"
Before you have a chance to fully process the image William is out of John's lap and in your arms, his face buried against your neck. He mumbles incoherently in English and Lanni, his fingers digging into your shoulders and you can barely breathe but you don't care. He's soft and warm and whole and you can't stop whispering, trying to soothe him with your voice and your touch and your love. You close your eyes, burying yourself in relief, so much stronger and so unlike anything you've ever felt before. You know you're holding him too tightly but he doesn't care and you don't care and John-
Your eyes snap open and you meet his tired gaze.
He nods, and you laugh breathlessly, almost hysterically. You want to thank him. You want to thank him and kiss him and hold him as tightly as William is holding you now; want him to feel a part of it, to understand-
He smiles. Knows.
You reach for his hand.
--
"Hey."
"Hey."
You wring your hands together. "How was your mission?"
John drops his jacket on the bed. "Good," he says automatically - then smirks and rephrases, "Eventful."
You smile. "As usual."
He nods, but says nothing. You realize now you’ve cornered him too quickly, didn't give him a chance to catch his bearings, to readjust. He's been off-world for nearly a week and before that you didn't talk much, fumbling around each other awkwardly in words and movements. You overheard Rodney mutter something about teenagers, and caught Ronon's amused, but oddly sympathetic glance. The days between have given you time to think, too much time, and you wish you would have spoken to him before he left, before this distance.
You hear him inhale sharply. "Look, Elizabeth-"
"I wanted to apologize."
"What?"
You mean it, but it isn't what you intended to say, or how you intended to say it. But there's no going back, and John is staring at you anxiously. You swallow, deep breath: "For my reaction the other night. It was a bit…dramatic." You smirk ruefully. John stares at you in confusion. "I…it isn't always like that." The words come awkwardly. "That bad. And I just…" you shrug, unaccustomed to being at a loss for words. "freaked out."
John frowns slightly. "Because of William?"
You nod, and your chest tightens. "It's happened a few times, if I stay that close that they…cross over, and I don’t have the time or the strength to shield him. William gets them too and I-" Your voice loses weight. "I hate being responsible for that."
John's eyes spark and he steps closer. "You aren't responsible for any of it, Elizabeth."
You smile at his conviction. "Maybe." He stares at you, trying to convince you with his gaze that you're wrong, but you aren't ready to go down that road yet; not now. "Anyway. I just wanted…I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
He nods shortly, but you know he never blamed you in the first place. "It's okay. Did, uh." He hesitates; shifts; runs his hand through his hair uncomfortably. "Did what we did cause that?" Stammers over: "I just mean, uh…"
You huff out a laugh and brush your hair nervously behind your ear. " 'Does sex with my girlfriend give her nightmares?' " Your lips quirk at John's lifted eyebrows and stunned expression, laughing softly as it fades into a smirk. "I don't know," you answer honestly. You hesitate, then admit softly: "I…It's been almost eight years since I've been close to anyone - physically, emotionally…and…" You shrug helplessly, meeting his gaze. "it's you. It's you and you're - you're William's father. You're the only person I'll ever-"
Your voice breaks. John's expression is so soft, so open and warm and vulnerable and when you take a step he closes the distance between you, arms strong around your shoulders. You shake your head against his chest, then tilt your neck to look him in the eye. "I'm not scared," you say firmly, loud in your ears but necessary. You repeat it to yourself in silence.
John shakes his head. "I'm terrified."
Smile; tease: "About time."
"Elizabeth," he breathes, like your name is an answer to a forgotten question. Like it means everything.
You're almost pleading. "Tell me. Tell me now if this isn't something you-"
He silences you with a kiss. Lips heavy over yours and his tongue in your mouth and fingers in your hair; engulfing you. Protecting you. He kisses you and you kiss back until all the air is gone from the room and maybe from Atlantis itself. You both break away on a gasp and he holds tighter, keeping you pressed against his chest, his forehead to yours.
You drop your hands to his chest, palms flat and you want to bury yourself in his smell and warmth and touch.
Your breathing returns to normal, slow, and John pulls back slightly, almost grinning. "You called yourself my girlfriend," he states. His eyes are bright, his smile wide.
Happiness.
You don't understand how anyone could ever want to take it away from him.
Laughing, you ruffle his hair with one hand and tug lightly on the collar of his shirt with the other. "What are you, seventeen?"
"Pretty much," he smirks, and kisses you again.
--
Slowly, it becomes routine. The last piece of the puzzle sliding into place, the edges fading and the picturing standing clear and stark as one. Despite your best efforts, you have a home. You have a family.
It isn't perfect - there are still vivid dreams of fire and smoke that leave you gasping, retching over the side of the bed; John's hand on your back and William's shifting in the dark. There are weeks you sleep in an empty bed, night hours you prowl the Command Center, not privy to the words exchanged behind closed doors but unable to make yourself leave. There are mornings that you stand, still and weightless as the 'Gate dials, William heavy in your arms - and moments when he looks up, smiles, waves; and nothing has changed.
There are days you fight. Days you breathe. Days you remember the last eight years in technicolor; days they fade to a dull scar beneath John's fingers as he draws patterns on your skin.
There are days, and days, and days.
And you heal.
--
You open your eyes before he's crossed the room, is nothing more than a small, shadowy figure hiding from the light. "William?"
He moves hesitantly at first, wary of the window, until you sit up and open your arms and then he's there, curled into your arms.
"The Silver Men?" you murmur.
He nods and you hug him tightly, rubbing a hand along his back to soothe and quiet and comfort. You sing his lullaby to stop his shaking - y'allah yanam, y'allah yanam - and under his skin you feel the vibrations slow and still.
When you turn, John is awake, watching you. You don't need words, just a slight glance and a touch and he shifts, and you settle William between you. He drifts back to sleep almost instantly, curled up with his face against your neck and his fingers curled around the collar of your shirt.
John tilts his head on the pillow, stretching over William to kiss you softly. You smile, using your free hand to brush through his hair once before closing your eyes. John presses a kiss to the top of William's head before wrapping his arms around you both.
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth
- 20,000 words (4,800 this section)
- pg-13
- title from leonard cohen's hey, that's no way to say goodbye
- for otl_fest, 80. elizabeth/john - history repeats itself & for anuna_81, who requested a fic from me a year ago based on viva la vida by coldplay. somewhere down the line this fic took a wrong turn somewhere, but I hope you like it regardless. ♥
- so many thousands upon thousands of epic thanks to tenacious_err. without you, this would probably would have been trashed or abandoned a long time ago. ilu! You are the bestest. <333
Flames lap at your face and your skin burns; the hairs on your arms char and you can smell the singe, the ash; the ‘Gate shuts down; the wormhole disengages; there are twigs in your hair; Oberoth looms over you; you say goodbye with fear, not grace; the flames turn to faces and scream-
"Elizabeth!"
John. His eyes just as wide as they were then. His hand on your arm, squeezing. Body over yours.
You blink. You can hear-
"William," you start. Out of the bed. Clothes. Shoes. Jacket. To John: "Make sure he doesn't wake up. Keep him calm."
He protests; tries to follow. "Stay with him!"
Your voice shakes. He listens. You run.
--
Rodney is a whirlwind of exhaustion and excitement. It's three in the morning and his eyes are blood-shot and coffee mugs are scattered throughout the lab, but he's waving his arms and talking fast and he's got something. The nearly-hidden look of vindication on his face almost makes you smile.
"I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier. I mean, it's so obvious!" John rolls his eyes and Woosley gives him an exasperated expression, both of which Rodney just waves off and turns to you. "Gating off-world was exactly the wrong thing to do; it was exactly what the Replicators expected you to do," he says, without blame or condemnation - just fact. "They're acting on old information and memories acquired from you when you were on Asura," (a brief flash of guilt) "and they assumed - correctly - that you would be desperate enough to connect with William, but simultaneously unwilling to put Atlantis in danger. They knew you'd try to get through to him, but they also knew you wouldn't have the power and resources available to you on Atlantis."
John throws you a look, then frowns at Rodney. "What resources?"
"Me," he declares. Ronon raises and eyebrow and Teyla gives him a stern look. "Well, and Zelenka," he mends, "and a team of scientists and military personnel at the ready the moment you say go. The Replicators were expecting the lag time, and used the connection not only to weaken you, but also to buy time."
Woosley narrows his eyes slightly. "That's quite a theory, Dr. McKay."
Zelenka shakes his head and steps in line beside Rodney and you notice, for the first time, that they've made a blockade - a semi-circle around you and John, silently declaring their loyalties. "I know, it sounds crazy but I believe Rodney is correct."
"Of course I'm correct, what do you think this is just a hunch I just-"
"Get to the point, McKay," John snaps.
Shifting slightly, he addresses Woosley. "We do it from here. Right here in the lab. Elizabeth can establish the exact same connection with William and find out his location, only this time, I'll be able to track, alter, and if need be sever that connection from the computer, just like we did when we stole the Zed-PM.”
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Woosley counters, "but didn't the Replicators send a virus through Elizabeth last time? What stops them from doing it again, and this time infiltrating our computer systems?"
A brief look of annoyance flashes across Rodney's face, and you recognize it easily as his, I'm way ahead of you expression. John tosses you a knowing glance and you both smirk. "We disconnect from the mainframe," Rodney's says. "Use a server that's completely offline and put the entire connection in a vacuum-" He points in turn: "William, Elizabeth, laptop. But with all the resources of Atlantis should something, you know. Go wrong." He shoots you a look. "Which it won't."
"Could she collapse again?"
"John-" you start, but he shakes his head.
"It matters, Elizabeth," he says, "If you get hurt-"
"She could, yes," Rodney interrupts, "But not any worse than the last time. I think."
John glares. "You mean when we almost lost her?"
Rodney looks away and mumbles. "Right."
You lay a hand on John's arm gently and try to speak low and soft. "It's an acceptable risk, John." He protests, but you tighten your grip and shake your head. "You would do the same if you were in my position."
He stares, his expression unchanging, but you know he can't argue, and you know he knows. You slide your hand down to his and squeeze it tightly.
Rodney barrels on. "Now, if we're done stating the obvious-"
"I'm not entirely convinced," Woosley breaks in, and out of the corner of your eye you see Ronon shift forward, tense and angry. "This plan of yours seems not only redundant, but also incredibly dangerous."
Rodney scoffs. "Please, we take risks bigger than this every day just letting half the morons who work here," he gestures around the lab, "anywhere near this kind of technology."
Woosley narrows his eyes. "And this has to be done from Atlantis?"
"In order to give Elizabeth a fighting chance, yes," Rodney says firmly. "I can help her. But I can only do it from here."
The air holds. Rodney stares at him expectantly. John's fingers curl around your palm in a vice. Woosley sighs, resigned. "I assume even if I said no, you'd all do it anyway."
Zelenka throws a look at Rodney; Teyla shifts; Ronon almost growls. Woosley turns to Lorne, hovering near the door next to two marines. "And you'd help them."
Lorne nods without pause. "Yes, Sir."
Woosley stares at you for a long moment. What he sees you can't begin to imagine, but his expression softens into something akin to sympathy.
Then he sighs. "The IOA is going to have a coronary."
Ronon leans forward. "The IOA can shove it up their-"
"Yes," Woosley interrupts sardonically, "I'll be sure to tell them so."
"Thank you."
You don't realize the breathless words are yours until Woosley turns, hesitates, then pats your arm awkwardly. "Yes, well," he murmurs, "We don't leave our people in the hands of the enemy. Especially seven-year olds." To Rodney: "Very well. You have a go."
--
Ronon, Teyla, Lorne and a small contingent of marines wait in the Control Room. It takes Rodney less than two hours to set up, unhooking and reattaching wires and cables, moving computers, transferring data. Zelenka keeps up, correcting him and fighting with him and yelling half in Czech at scientists Rodney is too busy to reprimand.
They'd to it for anyone, you know - jump through the hoops and exhaust all the options. But this - the way they move, speak, plan, act - this is for you. It's for you and it's for John and it's for a time they remember when it would have been your decision, your command.
You love them for it. Their bravery, their loyalty. Their trust.
Everything goes by in a blur, but so slow you can hardly breathe.
"Alright," Rodney says, stabbing a few more keys and re-checking several wires. Holding a data pad in one hand, he makes a few more adjustments, then looks up. "That's it," he says.
You nod; take a deep breath.
"Um," Rodney says. You open your eyes. "Good luck."
The first micro-second is lines of code. The next, emptiness. There's a pause that feels too long, too sharp - and then movement. William's presence crashes into yours and clings so tightly you can't react, save to wrap him up just as tight. I've got you, you whisper, willing your mind to sooth and calm and at the same time locate; the nanites shift and slide and weave between barriers the collective has put in place.
You can feel them encroaching, trying to take control.
"MR-8372," you gasp, pulling yourself forcibly out of their hold. "Outpost; ten miles south-west of the 'Gate." The room spins, and you can feel William clawing at you, begging you to stay. "It's underground - protected-"
Rodney grabs your arm as you start to fall. "Elizabeth!" Pain spikes through your skull, reaching out into every nerve and bone. You hear Rodney shout, something crash to the floor; William is fading and colors are mending and you fight it. Everything hurts and you can't breathe or think or see, but then there are hands, strong and sure, and something cold against your face, and softness.
"Elizabeth."
Rodney's face contracts into focus.
"Did you-"
He nods quickly. "We got it."
You're sitting on the floor, your back against the cabinets and Rodney's arm around your shoulder.
Your voice tremors. "John?"
"They're leaving now."
The room tilts, but you stand regardless. "I have to go."
Rodney scrambles after you. "Elizabeth!" he shouts, but you're already out the door and down the hall and in the Command Center before the feeling even returns to your legs. John is already there, meeting you halfway, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of earshot of his team.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going with you."
"No."
"If there's a shield-"
"I said no, Elizabeth. You aren't coming."
You hate the way your voice cracks. "You can't be serious."
Strong, soft and firm: "You're not strong enough, and you're not fast enough. They can detect you, and you'd be a liability."
You shake your head, almost frantic. His screams echo in your ears. "He's my son."
"I know. And we'll have a better chance of getting him out of there if you-"
"What?" you snap, but your words waver. "Stay out of the way?"
"Yes," he says gently.
"John-"
"I can't do it, Elizabeth. I'm better equipped for this and you know it, but I can't do it if you're there. If I'm constantly thinking about-"
"So don't."
"I can't."
"Damn it, John-"
"You used to trust me." You stop, and freeze, and stare at him. "You used to stand on that balcony and trust me to bring our people home." He let's go of your arm to cup your cheeks in his palms; your fingers curl around his wrists of their own accord. "I won't leave without him," he swears, "No matter what."
"I can't just sit here."
"And I can't risk it," he whispers. "Losing you-" His eyes slam shut and he breaks off; shakes his head. "Let me fix it," he begs. "Let me fix it."
You know he doesn't mean just this.
You swallow tightly, and nod. "Okay," you mouth, no sound to it.
Slowly, reluctantly, you back away.
--
When the screams have faded to whispers, and the faces faded to thoughts, you return. John is pacing the length of your bedroom, and William is fast asleep, at peace.
You're barely in the room before John has your arm, your face cradled in his palm. "Hey. Are you alright?"
He looks concerned. Almost frightened. "I'll be fine," you assure him. He looks skeptical, but nods; steps back. Your eyes flicker across the room. "Did he wake up?"
John shakes his head. "What was that about?"
You turn your back to him and throw your jacket over the chair. "They wake him up, sometimes," you say, too flatly; turn and face him. "It's better if I'm farther away, or if someone's with him."
He nods like he understands, but you know he doesn't really. Can't - it isn't his fault. He closes the space between you and touches you gently. "You're still shaking."
Exhale: "I know."
"Elizabeth-"
"They killed an entire village." He freezes; you close your eyes. You weren’t going to tell him. "Burned it to the ground."
"Who did?"
"Oberoth."
His name, out-loud, laid bare between you. John tenses with disgust and anger and guilt and he holds you just a little bit tighter, like he can protect you from what's already come and gone. You don't remember what it's like to cry, but your eyes hurt and your throat is tight and you wish you could stop talking but it's too much, too raw and he's here, this time. He's here.
"I'm responsible. I stayed too long, and they came." You wonder absently what he sees when he looks at you. "They always came."
"You can't blame yourself," he says firmly, and you almost laugh with bitterness.
"No? They helped me and paid for their kindness with their lives. I led Oberoth straight to them."
His teeth clench and his eyes narrow. "Oberoth is a psychopath-"
"He's a machine," you correct. The word is acidic. "And so am I." You shake your head, as if it could drive away your guilt. "I should have known."
"Elizabeth-"
Snap: "Don't."
You pull away. Heat boils in your stomach and you feel sick, feel tired, feel out of control and spinning downwards. In the back of your mind, you know that William is dreaming of toy planes and Atlantis from the sky; this time, you cannot give him stars.
"You said before you jumped from planet to planet before you found Corlon," John says softly, carefully. "Never stayed anywhere for too long." He's close, could touch you if he tried; wanted. "What made the other planet different?"
You stare down at your son, fast asleep. Your son, who liked to chew your hair and throw snowballs at the villagers; your son, who speaks Lanni when he's tired or excited or scared; your son, who plays in labs you tell him not to and loves to fly and finds you whenever you're sad, and smothers your face in kisses.
"That's where William was born."
--
John's voice is nearly static through the comm.
"McKay, get us through!" he shouts.
"I'm trying!"
You can hear weapons fire, shouting. There was a shield. There's always a shield. Always a barrier. You put the icepack Keller gave you to the side and watch as Rodney types frantically, trying to use the information you gave him to break through.
There's a staccato, a grunt; someone yells. "Try harder!"
Rodney's face contorts and he lets out a string of curses.
"I'll do it."
His head whips toward you. "Elizabeth-"
You shake your head. "I'm stronger, and I'm faster," you remind him, and wish your voice wasn't breathless and laced with pain.
Rodney flails his arms. "You can barely stand up!"
"I don't need to stand."
"Elizabeth!" he shouts, but you're already gone. You can't explain it, can't describe it. It isn't numbers or letters or codes. You just know where things are, how they move, how they adjust to your presence. You can feel them massing, trying to force you out and force you down but they can't. You're so close, almost to the shield.
Everything goes black.
White.
Blue.
"Dr. Weir." Behind you. "How kind of you to join us."
When you turn, you can see him clearly, see his face and his figure as if they weren't an illusion; as if they weren't your nightmares. "Oberoth."
He smiles smugly. "You look surprised."
You clench your teeth. "You were destroyed."
"You've forgotten our main tenant, I see," he mocks. Something tugs on your mind, hard, and you know it's him. You're familiar with his brand of punishment and torture. "Looking for someone? Don't worry. William is safe and sound, and thriving under our treatment."
The word makes your skin crawl. "Treatment."
"Amazing specimen he is. Half human, half-Replicator with the ATA gene."
Like a knife at the base of your skull; needles in every inch of your skin; weights and bonds and you push back with everything you are. "That gene means nothing to you," you gasp, full of anger. "Ascension isn't what you're after."
"Not me, no," he shrugs calmly, "though some of Niam's group still exist and still…deliberate," he chooses, "over their futures. I'm after something much more concrete."
The barrier flickers. It's so soft, so unobtrusive that you're sure you've imagined it, until it happens again. Oberoth doesn't seem to notice. You do everything you can to stay upright, even as the air grows thin. "What would you possibly want with a hybrid?"
"Oh, it's not the boy I'm interested in," he says lowly. "It's you. And more importantly, your location."
"Atlantis."
He merely smiles. "A bit too obvious, isn't it?"
Another harsh tug; you fall to the ground. "You're a broken record, Oberoth," you manage, the words spit between clenched teeth.
"But with new songs."
Even without sight, you feel their presence - John, Ronon, Teyla, all of them, bound and disarmed, being led down a long hallway towards the brig.
"My people found them just outside the complex. Think they'll enjoy their new realities as much as you did, Dr. Weir?"
Your voice wavers. "Let them go."
"Or what?" he sneers. He steps closer, crouching down in front of you as the pain spikes again; you can't cover your cry. "Don't expect the same parlor trick to work twice, Dr. Weir," he threatens lowly. "I am even more powerful than you remember."
Breathing heavy. Eyes slit. You can't see, can hardly hear your own voice. "Funny," you gasp, "I don't remember you...being that powerful to begin with."
He straightens suddenly. "Perhaps I should remind you."
You laugh breathlessly. "You always...underestimated me, Oberoth."
You can no longer see his face, but his tone is disbelieving and arrogant. "I don't see how. You're fading."
With the strength you have left, you lift your head and glare. "You assume I'm like you. That I…care more for my life than of those around me…than those of my family." You smile ruefully. "You might kill me…but you won't get William." Triumph: "And you never had John."
You can sense him start to frown, to question you, when there's a crash; a burst of light. The last thing you see are Oberoth's robes swirling at his feet, then dropping with the dust.
Then everything stops.
--
Calm.
Something shifts. There's a quiet beeping. Footsteps. Breathing. Something warm and heavy against your hand. You try to move, and the weight closes around your wrist.
"'Lizbth?"
The voice is muted and garbled. Your head is pounding and the light hurts when you crack your eyes open.
Pressure on your hand.
"Elizabeth."
Your eyelids flutter open and closed. The lights dim. The voice is familiar, but you can't place it. Aren't sure-
"Elizabeth, it's John. Can you hear me?" A shuffle. A cry. "Shh," he says. "Just wait. Give her a second, okay, buddy?"
You use all your strength to open your eyes. Everything is hazy and gray. You can see a figure near you, out of focus. You concentrate, and slowly the lines return - you're in the infirmary on Atlantis.
Atlantis.
Oberoth, Replicators, shield, John, William - oh, god -
A cry escapes your throat followed by a voice, small and scared. "M'yka?"
Before you have a chance to fully process the image William is out of John's lap and in your arms, his face buried against your neck. He mumbles incoherently in English and Lanni, his fingers digging into your shoulders and you can barely breathe but you don't care. He's soft and warm and whole and you can't stop whispering, trying to soothe him with your voice and your touch and your love. You close your eyes, burying yourself in relief, so much stronger and so unlike anything you've ever felt before. You know you're holding him too tightly but he doesn't care and you don't care and John-
Your eyes snap open and you meet his tired gaze.
He nods, and you laugh breathlessly, almost hysterically. You want to thank him. You want to thank him and kiss him and hold him as tightly as William is holding you now; want him to feel a part of it, to understand-
He smiles. Knows.
You reach for his hand.
--
"Hey."
"Hey."
You wring your hands together. "How was your mission?"
John drops his jacket on the bed. "Good," he says automatically - then smirks and rephrases, "Eventful."
You smile. "As usual."
He nods, but says nothing. You realize now you’ve cornered him too quickly, didn't give him a chance to catch his bearings, to readjust. He's been off-world for nearly a week and before that you didn't talk much, fumbling around each other awkwardly in words and movements. You overheard Rodney mutter something about teenagers, and caught Ronon's amused, but oddly sympathetic glance. The days between have given you time to think, too much time, and you wish you would have spoken to him before he left, before this distance.
You hear him inhale sharply. "Look, Elizabeth-"
"I wanted to apologize."
"What?"
You mean it, but it isn't what you intended to say, or how you intended to say it. But there's no going back, and John is staring at you anxiously. You swallow, deep breath: "For my reaction the other night. It was a bit…dramatic." You smirk ruefully. John stares at you in confusion. "I…it isn't always like that." The words come awkwardly. "That bad. And I just…" you shrug, unaccustomed to being at a loss for words. "freaked out."
John frowns slightly. "Because of William?"
You nod, and your chest tightens. "It's happened a few times, if I stay that close that they…cross over, and I don’t have the time or the strength to shield him. William gets them too and I-" Your voice loses weight. "I hate being responsible for that."
John's eyes spark and he steps closer. "You aren't responsible for any of it, Elizabeth."
You smile at his conviction. "Maybe." He stares at you, trying to convince you with his gaze that you're wrong, but you aren't ready to go down that road yet; not now. "Anyway. I just wanted…I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
He nods shortly, but you know he never blamed you in the first place. "It's okay. Did, uh." He hesitates; shifts; runs his hand through his hair uncomfortably. "Did what we did cause that?" Stammers over: "I just mean, uh…"
You huff out a laugh and brush your hair nervously behind your ear. " 'Does sex with my girlfriend give her nightmares?' " Your lips quirk at John's lifted eyebrows and stunned expression, laughing softly as it fades into a smirk. "I don't know," you answer honestly. You hesitate, then admit softly: "I…It's been almost eight years since I've been close to anyone - physically, emotionally…and…" You shrug helplessly, meeting his gaze. "it's you. It's you and you're - you're William's father. You're the only person I'll ever-"
Your voice breaks. John's expression is so soft, so open and warm and vulnerable and when you take a step he closes the distance between you, arms strong around your shoulders. You shake your head against his chest, then tilt your neck to look him in the eye. "I'm not scared," you say firmly, loud in your ears but necessary. You repeat it to yourself in silence.
John shakes his head. "I'm terrified."
Smile; tease: "About time."
"Elizabeth," he breathes, like your name is an answer to a forgotten question. Like it means everything.
You're almost pleading. "Tell me. Tell me now if this isn't something you-"
He silences you with a kiss. Lips heavy over yours and his tongue in your mouth and fingers in your hair; engulfing you. Protecting you. He kisses you and you kiss back until all the air is gone from the room and maybe from Atlantis itself. You both break away on a gasp and he holds tighter, keeping you pressed against his chest, his forehead to yours.
You drop your hands to his chest, palms flat and you want to bury yourself in his smell and warmth and touch.
Your breathing returns to normal, slow, and John pulls back slightly, almost grinning. "You called yourself my girlfriend," he states. His eyes are bright, his smile wide.
Happiness.
You don't understand how anyone could ever want to take it away from him.
Laughing, you ruffle his hair with one hand and tug lightly on the collar of his shirt with the other. "What are you, seventeen?"
"Pretty much," he smirks, and kisses you again.
--
Slowly, it becomes routine. The last piece of the puzzle sliding into place, the edges fading and the picturing standing clear and stark as one. Despite your best efforts, you have a home. You have a family.
It isn't perfect - there are still vivid dreams of fire and smoke that leave you gasping, retching over the side of the bed; John's hand on your back and William's shifting in the dark. There are weeks you sleep in an empty bed, night hours you prowl the Command Center, not privy to the words exchanged behind closed doors but unable to make yourself leave. There are mornings that you stand, still and weightless as the 'Gate dials, William heavy in your arms - and moments when he looks up, smiles, waves; and nothing has changed.
There are days you fight. Days you breathe. Days you remember the last eight years in technicolor; days they fade to a dull scar beneath John's fingers as he draws patterns on your skin.
There are days, and days, and days.
And you heal.
--
You open your eyes before he's crossed the room, is nothing more than a small, shadowy figure hiding from the light. "William?"
He moves hesitantly at first, wary of the window, until you sit up and open your arms and then he's there, curled into your arms.
"The Silver Men?" you murmur.
He nods and you hug him tightly, rubbing a hand along his back to soothe and quiet and comfort. You sing his lullaby to stop his shaking - y'allah yanam, y'allah yanam - and under his skin you feel the vibrations slow and still.
When you turn, John is awake, watching you. You don't need words, just a slight glance and a touch and he shifts, and you settle William between you. He drifts back to sleep almost instantly, curled up with his face against your neck and his fingers curled around the collar of your shirt.
John tilts his head on the pillow, stretching over William to kiss you softly. You smile, using your free hand to brush through his hair once before closing your eyes. John presses a kiss to the top of William's head before wrapping his arms around you both.